Creed

March 12

Creed           

We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown.  Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.  I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.  If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.  I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house.

Respect your age

*

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend
Steeped in beat
Whose hand I can no longer hold.

I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow
The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly
In my shivering mind.
I must let go.
I miss all the friends who for reason or no
Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.
My arms feel open and starved
But there is no way for me to retain myself
And follow them.
Some are lost, altogether
Some are lost only to me
But my arms remain empty nonetheless.
My ruined heart is sore and sad
But chasing this friend or that
Will not heal it.
The lonely path before me is the answer for me.
Possibly only for me among our former group
And will the paths cross later in this day or next?
I don't know and am better not knowing.
My path requires me to release outcomes
As well a kindred.
I must travel with my arms open
Some fall out of them
And others find their way in.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Rebellion Dogs

February 11

Rebellion Dogs

“Rebellion dogs our every step at first” AA’s 12 and 12

They won’t come to heal, won’t sit, won’t stay, these dogs circle waiting for signs of weakness or vulnerable skin, but there they are; they have been found out.  The ones that worry me more are those that took show and place, the dogs that stand in the shadows and lurk in the wing.  What are their names I wonder?  Their distinctive smell?  Must I identify these writhing mutts or simply call animal control?  Though this never worked with rebellion dogs these lesser pups surely would run from would be dog catchers and leave me to my dreams.  Alas, I name them and show them to my friends; we like they run in packs and are served well by honest disclosure.

Learn from old dogs

*

THINGS THAT ARE THICKER THAN WATER

Pudding, mud, ice cream, cement, sauce, paint,
 sap, drool, gravy, wood.
What is that?
A list of things that are thicker than water.

There are so many,
Why do people get so hung up on blood?
Survival, comfort, or maybe tradition?
There must be many reasons.

Why we strong-arm one another into relations
 with family.
Families we drank with
Or families we drank to get away from,
But it's not the family is it, it's us.

We have to learn to do what we need to do.
We can't force ourselves into relationships
 with anyone for any reason
Other then it is what is best for us.

Shoulds and aughts have no place in the family situation
So can I walk away from them all?
You can't do anything in the sweep of the wand,
In the same vein don't obligate yourself to people
 due to viscosity.

That sounds like a promising start.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Deserving

November 15

DESERVING

Tender toes crushed by moving memories, fresh pain from ancient injuries, shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscences.  Unhappy reconstructions slap unsuspecting faces.  The people, who stood by to let the chips fall where they may, try to feign 'innocent bystander' now that shit is falling from the sky.  Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high.  Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire of injustice coming to call.  Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients of the it all runs down hill award.  Cowards make themselves cripples and fracture at the force of incoming reality, and deserve more than they get.

Once well is a full feeling.

*

Induction

I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me.

It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with.

But if used properly I can power my whole world

with the current which flows through it

to me from my Higher Power.

If I use it improperly

I can melt down my core and burn down my life.

The connections are of the utmost importance,

insulation is a priority as well.

I know that I am conduit and so much more.

I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Quilter

November 11

QUILTER

What more comfort can exist in the world than a conglomeration of turned edges and love?  Fancy stitches or not, the assembled world of cloth stands testament to devotion and diligence.  Careful collections, meaningful to the collector and mysterious to the possessor, fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe.  Time is testimony to endurance.  Thread against thread, solidarity is strength embracing flexibility.  The bed of life is made and remade daily with the affection of kind quilters’ needles of love.

Find a room for zeal.

*

Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past

meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture,

so being wrong meant death or longing for death.

I tried never to be wrong

as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings;

I did not turn into superman,

wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts.

I did turn into someone else;

I became a cartoon of a real person,

two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color.

Now I see how wrong, wrong can be.

Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented.

It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose

or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly;

my choice, always my choice.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Slaying Old Dragons

November 8

SLAYING OLD DRAGONS

Your roar is Doppler-low and I can feel my steps move the earth as I go forward.  Former dominator, scary from every angle, I come for you today.  The scales are falling.  I don’t rip them but they fall.  I can breathe at the heights of your lair; I am not shrinking.  The booming voice you had is gone, the power spilling away from you.  I don’t fly from you.  Gone is the tremble you once instilled.  The curtain has parted and you are revealed not as the dragon, the serpent, the monster but as the peacock you have always been, preening and screeching as ever.

Put your foot down and dance with the other.

*

Come What May

Inevitable things are very much like inedible things;

you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up.

It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear

nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived.

I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch,

the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable.

Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven,

but I have to admit that some things are.

I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away

so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Leaves in a Pile

October 30

LEAVES IN A PILE

As a great pile of dry leaves, lay the problem.  Running through it to show my disrespect accomplishes nothing but to scatter my dilemma and widen the area of distress.  Covering and composting only allows the burden to indwell, leaching into that which feeds my soul.  Burning puts it in the air I breathe.  There is no galaxy far off enough to keep its reflection from my face.  Attack, flight, banishment?  No!  Insulation, conversion, contortion?  No!  I pursue none of these; I can not control things exterior.  I can not feed my power, light and life into the pile.  I have only one goal: not to become the problem.  Not to dry or dehydrate.  Not to fall from my hope and collect in the road.  My goal is to hold fast to hope and serve as conduit and companion to a life bigger than mine alone.

Practice little words like ‘oh’, and ‘hum’

*

Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench

and invited my friends and family.

Truth is, I drug many and tricked others

and there they are in the trench

I have so recently climbed out of.

It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible,

but here is the sacred truth;

I can’t climb down there again,

not even on a rescue mission.

I am obligated to help them, this is for sure,

but the fact still remains that it is not safe

to get into the water with a drowning person,

even if I am the one who caused the drowning.

If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing

and keep it safely on the bank

and only then might I be able to throw down a rope

or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love.

I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers

and try my best to cause no further harm,

more than that will have to wait

until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth

and my head is squarely upon my shoulders,

for headlong and mud covered I am no help.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Birth of an Apple

October 24

BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?   Seed or sauce?  Crunch or crisp?  The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice, how can it be limited to only one kind of delivery?  The children of effort produce fruit of their own; who am I to call them other than my kin?  How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard?  But snow is snow.  I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing.  I may finish my days in a winter orchard if I spend my life picking not choosing.

Keep two lists: what you want and what you have.

*

Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me.

I have known no such peace.

What is it to live in a world where there is a man

who likes you, someone who approves?

I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see,

no ducking, no need to hide,

had there been a good man to whom I could turn.

The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old,

old and different from those kids, mere children,

safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Wild

September 23

WILD

When I run wild through the rain my hair streaming behind me, water fleeing my face, I see with my heart the thousand other rains pouring from my past.  How I peel from me the soaking luggage covering my naked pain.  Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat of my bed like the humid chill of an early fall drizzle.  I slip my trembling skin between the comfort and the comforter, flex my toes, towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love from my pale, pale soul.  Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind.  I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel, trees spinning bare in a blank wet world.  I know this ever relived fluid, this recycled life.

Interest yourself.

*

What is Dear?

I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life

instead of being taught that life is dear,

but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know

and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.

I wish I had learned earlier

to love the life I was taught to cling to,

but I am grateful I have been bound to life

long enough to find the joy in it.

I have found that knowing joy

causes me to cling all the more,

cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task.

I am angry for what I wasn’t taught,

but sadder still for what they didn’t know

and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.

I wanted better for them

and they wanted better for me

and this is the circle which closes

around the dear that I hold onto.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Don't Be

August 18

DON’T BE

Don’t be stupid.

Don’t be crazy.

Don’t be anything out of the ordinary.

Don’t be angry.

Don’t be hateful.

Just don’t be that way.

Don’t be sad.

Don’t be mopey.

Smile for the camera.

And pretend for everyone.

I wondered often why I felt like dying and it took me years to understand why.

Don’t be equals death.

Don’t feel.

Don’t cry.

Don’t love.

Life is about action, presence and content.  You’re wrong if you break the rules and dead if you keep them.  So, please be you and don’t be them.  Look back when you have to but step out of the grave.

Learn followership too.

*

Single Serving Sterling

When the menu of life feels vast

I must focus on my teaspoon;

a simple tool that fits well in my hand,

whose use I well understand.

The possibilities conceived

when I ponder the intangibles

conspire to suck me down the rabbit-hole

where all that’s left to me is a drug.

When I come back to stir my tea

and lick the spoon clean

the world revolves around me

and without need of my completed unified theory.

Need looms, loss stacks,

salvation keeps a steady distance,

my only hope is to drink my tea,

I shan’t even sharpen my spoon;

I can and need to stay out of my fear built prison

and off the streets of hell.

My task is at hand and the size of the scoop

is a reminder to take all of life in small doses.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Things Which Are Thicker Than Water

August 15

THINGS WHICH ARE THICKER THAN WATER

“Pudding, mud, ice cream, cement, sauce, paint, sap, drool, gravy, wood.” 

“What is that?"  I ask my sponsor.

“A list of things thicker than water.  There are so many; why do people get so hung up on blood?”  responds my sponsor.

“Survival?  Or maybe comfort?  Tradition?"  I counter.

“I’m sure you’re right.  I’m sure there are many benign reasons why we strong-arm one another into relationships with family we may or may not be ready for.”

“You mean the families we drank with?”

“Or sometimes drank to get away from.  But it’s not the family; it’s us.  We have to learn to do what we need to do.  We can’t force ourselves into relations with anyone for any reason other than it’s what is best for our sobriety.  Shoulds and oughts have no place in the family situation.”

“So I can just walk away from them one and all?”

“You can’t do anything in that sweep of the wand.  In the same vein, don’t obligate yourself to people due to viscosity.”

“Got ya.  There has to be a real choice made.”

“Sounds like a promising start.”

Have what you want unless all you want is MORE.

*

The Dark Fantastic

When the tornado touches down worry ends;

the anticipation is over and thought stops.

Tragedy is funny that way.

In the aftermath I find out what mattered

and what didn’t;

whether I have helped or injured myself

trying to plan for the worst.

I fail to realize there are cloud filled days

when nothing happens

and days when trouble comes from out of the blue.

What matters ultimately is if I was happy yesterday

all the way into today until the thunder struck.

Greed is not: living for today;

greed is my attempt at gathering the future

while dragging the past.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Mortification

August 10

MORTIFICATION

Lime with envy, I built a wall around.  Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone.  Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short.  I make no in-depth connections; I coat externals with glue, stack reactions and let the bombs fly.  I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste.  I am setting myself up again.  Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement.  I am hard and I am hollow; with wounded pride, I subjugate my soul.  My life is reduced to a powder.  I am mortified.

Spread oil from your navel out.

*

Michal Rovner

I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls.

This has enabled me to recreate them

stone by stone everywhere I go.

It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave.

I must change the equation and reorder the numbers

allowing these rocks to be recycled

and find a wonderful useful life

as a stairway out of this pit of despair.

What was once an edifice to lives unlived

is now able to facilitate elevation,

a restoration of a level playing field.

It was not wrong for me to catalog the stone

and there was no way for me to leave them behind,

but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life,

except for the ability to live in it.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

The First Father

March 14

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone if I have time after I buy that red dress.  To say I hate you is an overstatement; I only detest what I know of you, the rest I leave to other people who might have the misfortune to cross your path.  Your unavailability can protect you from anything I could ever do to you.  Your hurt and arrogance is far worse a punishment than I could ever inflict on you if I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.  Having to be you every day must make it hard to leave the bed in the morning; I know I couldn’t do it if I had to drag your baggage around all day.  The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.  You might think it’s armor, but your misnaming of everything is just another of the things I never miss about you.  That is why, although I pray everyday for your well being for the sake of mine, if I never see you again, it might just be long enough.

Live up to your height.

*

Bad Acting

Because there never seems to be enough love

in the world to fill the wound,

my wounded self riots.

At times the debauchery seems good natured enough,

flamboyant yet without harm,

at other times the disturbance is apparently violent

and the issuing tumult a crime.

All for want of wholeness and sanity

I pursue shattered fractured activity

just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live,

where there is no air.

I want land beneath my feet

and full, full lungs

on my own I find neither of these

and little else of use.

Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign

that I am in the, me, myself and I mode

of drowning in a teacup and require rescue.

Little more than raising my hand above the surface

and asking for help is needed

though this is a Herculean effort as we all know.

Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks

and I know the river runs through me.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Safety in my Chair

February 22

SAFETY IN MY CHAIR

Sometimes I have to sit with my knees tucked up under my chin.  My feet can’t touch the floor at these moments.  I hug my legs to me, I feel contained but somehow adrift in my chair.  I center my mind on breath and pulse.  Pure fear flits and flutters while I gain my composure.  When I feel safe enough to put one foot down, then the other, and connect with the world again, I am leaving home to embark on this earthly trek.  The journey is there for me every day but some days I curl up in my chair.

Complement your feet with your shoes.

*

Patricide

I never killed my father.

Why finish a job that

someone is completing all on his own.

It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead;

I did and do for that matter.

Don’t misunderstand me,

I wish him no harm,

It’s just that he is like a creature so tortured

that he is nothing but a danger and a misery.

Left to live he is a hazard to everyone

he has contact with, an agony to live inside.

What can I wish for him,

but departure and rest,

something he can never give to himself.

I don’t plot, don’t scheme,

I only know; know in part,

the terrible lie he lives

and hurt he drags from place to place

Acting like it is not there and nothing matters;

let’s just get by.  So, if he is not dead he should be.

He is the embodiment of the hurtful impotent god

and I don’t kill that man

but I kill the image, perish that thought.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Life is Unfair

February 19

LIFE IS UNFAIR

Assuring myself I will not be permitted through the gate, I walk the perimeter, assessing the fence, looking for a place to exploit, a wire slightly high.  Trying to look graceful, I duck under the fence, telling myself I prefer life on the edge.  The water is less dangerous here on the fringe; I wouldn’t want to be swept away.  I stay clear of my peers.  I stand in the baby pool and feel confident I won’t drown, brushing from my conscience that I won’t swim either.

Struggling to the top of the pile or scurrying underneath is a blatant lack of humility.  Skirting the margin is the same.  Facing life and finding it unfair, I take to the world of exception and hope to slip through the cracks to a life of safety.  In that act I discount my talent and ability.  Worst of all, I disconnect from God.

Toy with your thoughts, play with your food.

*

Jenny

Though ignorance may be bliss,

living in the shadow of someone else’s

ignorance is sheer hell.

The confusion is bad, but the lies are worse.

Want to cripple a child for life

give it to a well meaning fool

who has the rule book to the wrong board game,

That child will grow to need crutches they don’t make

and medicine they can’t brew.

Dependent on misguided insanity the child will require

a miracle cure and may lack the ability to ingest it.

Best case scenario the kid makes a brave escape

into a world she can barely comprehend,

worse case she turns the rule book upside down

and reads it backwards to her own unfortunate brood.

Ignorance is always a twilight proposition,

half agreement the other half handcuffed nightmare.

Full consent is by necessity impossible

while blameless innocents is similarly unachievable.

The only suggestion I can make

from this side of the looking glass

is to pick your poison and plan your getaway.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Accident of Birth

February 8

ACCIDENT OF BIRTH

We are here together, born the millstones about one another’s necks.  Parentage equates to persuasion and I hold these strangers to my breast.  Minds having chosen, violent turns skew off radar’s blip.  I am held by guilt’s tight sutures to this motley mass.  I long for the freedom of birds to fly far from my nest mates.  Possessing sense enough not to neighbor with owners of my same genetic skin, I dream to be a turtle of the sea and meet each other in neutral waterways, friends for seasons of choice, far from the family shore.  Accidents brought us together.  Let kindness emancipate us.

Test your mind with poetry.

*

From Pen to Progress

“Leave those gaters in the paddock

awhile longer,” said my sponsor.

I gave a little better than a cursory glance

at the hulking forms

though I did stay strictly on my side of the fence

and grasped tighter the hand of my custodian.

The onceover, worked fine as my first pass through

 the creatures of the swamp,

I didn’t fully grasp what lay beyond the petting zoo,

but given my newness this wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

On second run I was in a boat

with a glass bottom and a guide, I had vision, clarity.

Third time through was a charm,

swim fins and a rope tied about my waist,

it was all too real.

I floundered and had to be hauled bodily

by my home group, my sponsor stood anchor.

I have numbered and charted these murky waters now

and I see the lure they have for my ailing, twisted mind;

The intensity of the brutes awash

and the dark calling to dark

makes that sick sense that only an alcoholic can parse.

I have to take to those byways

with supplies and reinforcements.

Never swim alone!

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Entrenched

November 1

Entrenched

I have dug myself a trench and invited my friends and family.  Truth is, I drug many and tricked others and there they are in the trench I have so recently climbed out of.  It is a nasty place and I feel horribly responsible, but here is the sacred truth; I can’t climb down there again, not even on a rescue mission.  I am obligated to help them, this is for sure, but the fact still remains that it is not safe to get into the water with a drowning person, even if I am the one who caused the drowning.  If I am to be of any help at all I must get my footing and keep it safely on the bank and only then might I be able to throw down a rope or lend a hand to anyone, especially those I love.  I pray for the sturdy stance of helpful strangers and try my best to cause no further harm, more than that will have to wait until my cleats are soundly lodged into the earth and my head is squarely upon my shoulders, for headlong and mud covered I am no help.

Topple trivial towers

*

MY MOTHERS FACE

The way that age pours down my mothers face
When she is sad reminds me
That grief runs through my blood.

Generation after generation
Has been transfused with anxious woe.
Heartbreak vexes minds full of fear.
There is no easy way
To round the bend on sharp pointed issues
The route is circuitous.

I battle the chaotic thinking to fight my way back
To a place where my mothers eyes sparkle
As they squint closed with her smile.
The war of peace is not easily won by contemporaries.
We must close ranks between the ages
To keep the joy from sheeting off our skin
And keep the sadness in proportion.

Restore us to our possible bliss
We can over take ecstasy from there.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

What is Dear?

September 24

What is Dear?

I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves.  I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it.  I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition.  I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.

Make room for running starts

*

FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT

Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.

It somehow starts with moths in the stomach

And ends with warm soup satisfaction.

Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle

Progress made by tugging one string then the other.

It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone

But tottering assent is always this way.

Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom

Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.

Establishing a new altitude is challenging.

I must ground myself in a new way.

My talents hinder and aid me.

I must open the correct doors in my mind

And avoid the traps in the floor.

Stuttering through requirements and obligations

I transform but only slowly.

Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Warhol Wouldn't Be

September 15

Warhol Wouldn’t Be

There is no trick to art.  If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar I lose my individuality.  If I make what is truly me I fear there is no line in which to stand.  I must make the work, find the market, live life and die happy; all this with no map and a world filled with people who tell me what to do, but none who can guarantee the outcome.  My unwillingness to fight, to look at and feel the ugliness of life is at the core of my impediment. 

Except change then accept change

*

LINEAGE

People stand in the cue and I stare,

Lost in contemplation and compliance

I weigh the conflicts and complications.

Is this the method to clear identification?

I think I am better known for the lines I’ve crossed,

The times I press between warm souls

And force myself to the area beyond.

How can I wait my turn for generational stew

When the fruit trees bear life for those who break free

From ruts and rumbles to bite deeply the flesh of the future?

I can’t stand here though I love so many in this line.

I cannot love the line itself.

I must step through, breathe,

Stretch my legs and mind.

Take leave of grids and locks

Living a lonelier but healthier life

All caused by a change in direction.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Michal Rovner

August 10

Michal Rovner

I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls.  This has enabled me to recreate them stone by stone everywhere I go.  It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave.  I must change the equation and reorder the numbers allowing these rocks to be recycled and find a wonderful useful life as a stairway out of this pit of despair.  What was once an edifice to lives unlived is now able to facilitate elevation, a restoration of a level playing field.  It was not wrong for me to catalog the stones and there was no way for me to leave them behind, but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life, except for the ability to live in it.

Take a look at yourself from a distance

*

THE SEDUCTION OF SOBRIETY

I was seduced away from my duties

As an alcoholic by the promise of sobriety,

Allegiance to my disease was sidelined.

Alluring stability and beguiling integrity

Curried favor with my desperate heart,

Pulling me from the arranged marriage of addiction.

How could I cling to the corpse of dependence

When sanity shimmered just out of reach,

Then not out of reach but within my grasp.

I couldn’t resist the golden flicker of life.

I had been bound to death

Unable to see an alternative.

My loyalty to loss and grief slipped from me

And I limped into the daylight,

Like the widow of the night.

I have been lured to my senses

By a love like no other,

The love of life.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Creed

March 12

Creed           

We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown.  Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing.  I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea.  If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk.  I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house.

Respect your age

*

FRIENDS

My sweet, dear, funny friend
Steeped in beat
Whose hand I can no longer hold.

I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow
The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly
In my shivering mind.
I must let go.
I miss all the friends who for reason or no
Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where.
My arms feel open and starved
But there is no way for me to retain myself
And follow them.
Some are lost, altogether
Some are lost only to me
But my arms remain empty nonetheless.
My ruined heart is sore and sad
But chasing this friend or that
Will not heal it.
The lonely path before me is the answer for me.
Possibly only for me among our former group
And will the paths cross later in this day or next?
I don't know and am better not knowing.
My path requires me to release outcomes
As well a kindred.
I must travel with my arms open
Some fall out of them
And others find their way in.